Gloves
by Rokutagrl
Summary: Koushirou leaves his gloves behind, but Taichi's there to keep him warm. First oneshot, Taishirou.


Koushirou blows on his numbing fingers, but the air does nothing but solidify his breath into a puff of visible air. Of all the days to forget his warm, cotton black gloves on the dining hall table it had to be today when snow threatens in the sky and Koushirou looks forward to three hours of standing in line, a good half an hour before even entering the building. Perhaps even his mother is partial to blame, too, for having not warned him about the consequences of forgetting such important items.

Why had he agreed to wait for one of Yamato's head lining concerts anyway?

"Cold much?"

Right… how could he have forgotten Taichi was somehow to blame for all of this?

"I hear Yamato's in town for the night. Wouldn't it be great to see one of his concert, like old times?" Taichi had begged him a mere two weeks ago. And with that pleading 'I'm so perfect and sexy, I just know you're going to eat right out of my hand, Kou-Shi-Rou!'

Statistically he had to be right one of these days. Only Koushirou's vision of 'one of these days' had not included his poor fingers as casualties of the bizarre. He found over the last eighteen years he was rather attached to the slim digits. Losing them now would be like going a day without one of his computers…

…And without his fingers he had no instruments to type! Then not only typing, but programming and hacking and everything he had come to love and acknowledge as being part of himself would vanish forever! Did the air feel a little less… breathable all of a sudden?

"Here!" It's Taichi's all but cheerful voice that breaks into Koushirou's mind ramblings, offering an infamous Yagami Grin that never ceases to boil the blood in the red head's cheeks. Then Taichi is tugging on his right hand glove, and Koushirou thinks he knows exactly what the wild haired boy is up to.

Opening his mouth to protest only brings another puff of air to life, and the red head fears that perhaps his lungs have frozen- but logic reminds him this is the normal effect the honey-eyed Japanese teen often arouses in him.

But Koushirou isn't so used to the confusion that floods his senses when he is only presented with ONE glove, but the 'please do as I ask, because I promise you won't regret it,' look and grin combination makes for a swift decision to slip the glove onto his own right hand.

It's confounding, really, because now fifty percent of both of their hands are going to freeze in the winter air. The line moves only an inch in the last couple of minutes, and all the time for Koushirou to notice his exposed hand faces the exposed hand of Taichi. Maybe the other boy gave little attention to these details, but Koushirou's mind races a mile a minute with the thoughts of 'what if' and 'possibly.'

He almost misses the tentative finger that taps his own numb digits, but it's unmistakable when a warm hand cups his own- warm tan skin meeting cold, reddened skin. Suddenly, the cold is the least trouble on Koushirou's mind, his cheeks staining with evidence of his darkest thoughts.

He glances upward from the corner of his eye to catch the red on Taichi's cheeks, eyes looking every which way but towards his own, but the undeniable hint of a smile forms across thin lips.

It must have been contagious because even Koushirou feels the tug of his own shy smile light his face.

Someone whispers behind them, and of what Koushirou is not sure, but for once in his conscious life he finds he could care less what any other person in line, or in general, thinks.

Because Taichi is holding Koushirou's hand, and Taichi's warmth floods through Koushirou like a wild fire, and it's Taichi and he's Koushirou…What else is there to care about?

The line inches forward, and they enter through the open doors where the heaters work over time and there's far more than enough warmth to reach thousands of people-

But Taichi has yet to let go of his hand, and Koushirou finds no motivation to pull away either. And there's still plenty of lines to wait through before they can finally enter the Pit and find their seats.

Still time…

"Hey Kou!" Taichi gives another one of those infamous grins, and Koushirou finds himself being conditioned to believe that- sometimes- something good might come from these grins. But there's something amiss about this one, and Koushirou has not the ability to decipher what it is.

Outside the sky opens allowing white flakes of snow to enter the atmosphere, falling around poorly undressed fans waiting for their turn to enter the stadium.

"Your lips are practically blue! I could warm them, if you'd like?"

Even though his face is red and body sufficiently warm, and while Taichi's lecherous grin only serves to brighten the red on his face to match the vermillion color of his hair, Koushirou realizes almost too late the up and down motion his head makes.

Taichi smiles, genuinely, and Koushirou holds no regrets.

Especially not for leaving his warm, cotton black gloves on the dining hall table.


End file.
